


Invisible

by texadian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texadian/pseuds/texadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the world, Molly feels invisible. It's just fitting then that sometimes she is. In all the world, there doesn't seem to be anything that can hold Sherlock Holmes' attention. At least he didn't think there was.</p><p>Magical realism AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue, if you will, of my new short fanfiction piece.

It wasn’t common knowledge to most people in the world, but there did come a time when the odd man or woman or child would come across an Invisible and though the experience could be shocking, the novelty of it was fleeting and they’d soon continue on with their normal and complete lives.  
  


This wasn’t the case for Sherlock Holmes.  
  


It wasn’t even a first time experience for the man —he’d heard of these strange and rather mundane individuals before. His first run in with one had been on, at first, a truly engaging case.  
  


A body had been found, washed up on the shores of the Thames downriver from London. It displayed all the normal markers of asphyxiation —a drowning unfortunately, as Molly had confirmed, and there were signs of a struggle from the bruises along the victim’s forearms and hands. A blow to the head had most likely left the victim unconscious long enough to run out of air and drown underwater.  
  


That was the normal part. Not much of a hook for Sherlock Holmes. Mostly detective and CSI work. But then, sometime around the fourth week of the investigation, the body disappeared. Not slowly and over time, but completely and all at once, something cadavers didn’t usually do. Barts security was convinced it’d been stolen. But who’d have had interest in stealing the body of cadaver in a nearly closed case?  
  


No one normal, Sherlock Holmes knew for sure. Molly and John had of course, sided with the rest of the fools there. Despite security cameras revealing no unidentified persons on the morgue floor and definitely not any movement of the 185 lb cadaver, they were still convinced the main suspect of the case was to blame.  
  


But that was too simple. Too idiotic. Why flee London when you’re about to be arrested for murder when you can steal the body instead and remain in your homestead? It didn’t add up. Sherlock liked the cases that didn’t add up. It meant someone had messed up in their evaluation and he would have the honour to point out every flaw.  
  


Like a bee to honey, Sherlock made his way down to Barts on the very same day of the disappearance. There was a rather unnecessary amount of people congregating in the morgue, far more than he’d ever seen before. Molly was perched on a stool in the back, sipping from a cup of Bart’s atrocious excuse for coffee.  
  


Personnel from the NSY had gravitated toward eyewitnesses from the nightshift: a medsurg nurse taking a smoke break on the less populated level and a security guard, who to only Sherlock’s knowledge, failed to mention the fact that he’d taken a long lunch break and had missed most of his shift. The three CSI units present, Anderson included, were hunched over near the fridge where the body had been stored. Their futile attempts to lift unique prints off the door handles and wall didn’t seem to faze them.  
  


Sherlock accessed the room for a few more seconds, before whipping off his coat and barrelling through. He handed the Belstaff to Lestrade as he passed him and nearly stepped on Anderson, before coming to a halt in front of the fridge in question.  
  


“The body is gone, you say?” he asked to no one in particular.  
  


There was a hum of _yes’_ s and _mhm’_ s that followed.   
  


Without much consideration, Sherlock opened the handle to the fridge and slid the pallet out before him. There was nothing there.  
  


Anderson chuckled, from behind him, but Sherlock ignored him and all the rest of the people whose eyes were currently fixed on the great Sherlock Holmes.  
  


With his own, he could clearly see the bottom of the try.  
  


“See?” Lestrade held out Sherlock’s coat for him to take.  
  


Sherlock raised his hand, still thinking. He recalled a vague exchange between himself and a woman in his homeless network two years before. She’d come to him with information concerning a group he’d been monitoring for  —a reason he could not remember now— but the one detail, the only detail that mattered now, he could.  
  


“Hand me a glove, Anderson.”  
  


The man looked back with confusion, but pulled out a blue nitrile one, nevertheless.  
  


With only slight trepidation, Sherlock slid it on and lowered his hand towards the tray. He could only imagine the thoughts going on around him  —the nagging question his own brain was producing in the form of John’s voice.  
  


_What on Earth are you trying to do? Some sort of magic trick?_   
  


And despite what happened next, it wasn’t a trick at all. Because when Sherlock’s gloved hand met solid flesh, there’d been no conjuring in the room, no magic. The invisible body of the victim had been there all along.  
  


“Just an Invisible,” Sherlock said, addressing the room.  
  


He appeared oddly nonchalant for such an occurrence, but then again, so did some of the others in the room. The men and women with loved ones who also suffered from the rare condition turned away with pity. Soon the room that had once been full of anxious and anticipating eyes, drew away from the Invisible body and towards each other in hushed conversation.  
  


There was nothing left to see and so one by one, the Barts employees filed out, followed by the NSY and the CSIs soon after —not without getting a poke in themselves. Within a couple minutes, the morgue had returned to near silence, a state it knew best, and the three people still there nodded towards each other.  
  


“Sherlock,” Lestrade said, handing him his coat.  
  


“Yes. Thank you,” he replied tersely, letting his eyes pass from the retreating detective to the pathologist, still in the back.  
  


“Quite the case,” she said stoically, placing her half-finished cup on the counter.  
  


“Not really,” he said, a little let down himself.  
  
“Of course,” Molly hummed, turning her back to him and returning to work.


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a shocking discovery about Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not beta'd and riddled with mistakes, most likely. I apologize in advance.

Alas, Sherlock’s first meeting with an Invisible was not a lengthy one nor very engaging. While he, himself, almost envied the individuals who, though they could not control it, did cycle through invisible days, their existence was not a pressing issue. For some reason or another, the few who’d been labeled as such rarely strayed towards a life of crime or rebellion. And because of that, Sherlock’s interest in them never persisted beyond the odd quip.   
  


Until it didn’t.  


“You really can’t come by today?” John asked over Sherlock’s mobile.   
  


Sherlock rolled his eyes a few times as if hoping for sympathy from the empty hallway around him. Babysitting really could be the most horrible of favours. Far worse than anything imaginable. She was too small to impart knowledge on, yet too old to only require amusement from a stuffed bunny in her bassinet.   
  


“I cannot, John. Sitting here with a client as we speak.” He popped the _ k  _ with his tongue _ ,  _ while trying to decide if the lie would suffice.   
  


It wouldn’t.   
  


“Sitting where? Your flat? You’re not at home. Mrs. Hudson told me so just ten minutes ago.”  
  


“John.” Sherlock took a lengthy breath. “Here as in the client’s house.”  
  


“Oh.” Pause. “Alright then.”  
  


“I will see you tonight then, John?”  
  


“Yes you will. This is Mary and I’s first dinner party at our new place and you won’t miss it. Mary is taking this very seriously.”  
  


Sherlock nodded to himself. “And it’s still a party with only three people, then?”  
  


He heard John groan in frustration. “Yes, Sherlock. It is. And don’t forget there’s four, actually. Though she’ll probably be down for her nap when you get here.”  
  


“I shall hope. Goodbye, John.”   
  


He didn’t wait for a reply, closing his phone preemptively, then turned the corner for his final destination.   
  


The lab. On a Friday. Empty and peaceful. The lab techs were working with a different specialist today and though she was always a helpful addition, there would be no Molly there to nitpick at his wrongdoings.   
  


Despite its apparent emptiness, there was something off when Sherlock pushed through the double doors. The lights were on for starters,  _ how wasteful,  _ and the screen on the centrifuge in the back was lit up. Sherlock proceeded with mild apprehension and walked over to check the machine. Empty.   
  


“Huh…” he muttered aloud.   
  


He pushed the power button, then set off to collect his dishes from the fridge. He took out five of them, stacking them in his right hand, before searching around outside the fridge for a set of instruments. Upon his return however, he took quick notice that the centrifuge was once again, turned on.  
  


“Really?” He looked around. Maybe he’d missed someone, hunched below a counter or passing through. But there was no one. Not a soul. 

He unplugged the machine from the back wall this time, just to be sure, then made his way to the office in pursuit of one of the comfy chairs they didn’t tell the interns about.   
  


He almost expected the centrifuge to be on again when he came back, but he got no such deligh. Everything was where he’d set it last.  _ No ghosts,  _ he thought to himself with a chuckle.   
  


After pushing the rolling chair over to where a microscope was already set-up, Sherlock began analyzing his samples at the back counter. He was looking for growth in an adverse medium. Today, hopefully, he’d have the results he needed.  
  


The first two were barren, but the rest were not. Pleased that some of the dishes already contained fungal communities, Sherlock jaunted over to the microscope once again, to take a closer look. As he was about to pull the chair back, he could have sworn he heard the tapping of someone’s shoes, but he sat down anyway.   
  


“Yeow!”   
  


Sherlock sprang up immediately, feeling the mold of two thin legs on his bottom and warm breath on his back. His eyes darted around frantically until he felt a hand on his forearm.   
  


“Sorry about that,” the voice said quietly. “I didn’t know you were here.”  
  


Sherlock gulped, nodding his head vivaciously. “Neither did I.”  
  


The voice laughed. It was warm. It reminded him of home, though of which home he wasn’t certain.  
  


“I really am sorry,” she said —clearly a woman now that he had time to take in the situation.  
  


She kept her hand on his arm, letting him know where she was while she stood up. Her shoes made a light padding sound on the floor as she lead him to the office.   
  


“I have something that might make this less —”  
  


“Molly?” he interrupted, causing both of them to stop in their tracks.  
  


The more the name stewed, the less it felt like a question.  
  


“Yes?”  
  


“I honestly didn’t know.”  
  


She was on the verge of dismissing the comment. An  _ it’s fine  _ or  _ not many do know  _ to clear the air, but nothing came out.   
  


“Molly?”  
  


He couldn’t read an expression off her face, but he knew she was struggling to say something, anything.   
  


“It’s not your fault. I never told you.”  
  


“I should’ve noticed.”  
  


The condition would never contribute to anything fatal and her physical and mental capacities would never take a hit, but somehow being an Invisible always warranted pity.  
  


“Eh.” She shrugged.  
  


“Stop shrugging. It’s not  _ eh. _ ”  
  


“I’m not shrugging, Sherlock.”  
  


He placed both hands on her shoulders this time and felt them move down from his pressure.   
  


“I may not be able to see you Molly, but I know you. You’re still here,” he laughed uneasy, though he found nothing about the conversation amusing. “I can still touch you.”  
  


This produced a real laugh from the pathologist, though. She ducked away from his touch and swooshed by him, leaving him motionless.   
  


“I —I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  


“I know.” She smiled, tongue between her teeth, and made her way back to the microscope. “I know you didn’t. But it’s still funny to see you all red. I can still see you, by the way. It doesn’t work both ways."  
  


He touched his face without thinking, before lowering his hand to his side in one long exhale.   
  


Molly shook her head, giggling to herself. There was something empowering about having this advantage around him. She usually avoided people when she’d turn invisible —made it much easier to not get trampled on or ignored.   
  


Without her constant touch, his eyeline was a bit off. He focused on the sound of her breathing instead.   
  


“So when you pick up that slide, does it just levitate in mid-air?” he asked.   
  


Molly showed him instead of answering, waving it around beside her. She was translucent, blocking not one pigment of the slide’s colour.   
  


“What about other stuff?” Sherlock continued, a slight hesitation in his question.   
  


“What do you mean? Like am I a ghost?” She wasn’t following. “I’m still corporeal and all. Can’t walk through walls and shit.”  
  


“No, not that. I mean…” He was having trouble coming out with it. “Does anything else, you know, turn invisible when you do?” he mumbled.   
  


Though Sherlock could not gauge her reaction, he hoped she felt just as, if not more uncomfortable than he did at that moment.   
  


“Did you just ask me if I was wearing any clothes?”  
  


So maybe not uncomfortable at all.   
  


“Or jewelry.” He added. He wanted to hit himself over the head for that one.  _ Of course clothes, you imbecile.  _ “It’s a justified question.”  
  


“Oh, yes, yes. You’re right. It would be highly inappropriate to leave the house without anything on I’d say. This weird cycle of mine, it does tend to stop whenever it feels like it. Can you imagine it wearing off on a Saturday afternoon at Tesco?”  
  


“No, no I can’t… So you are wearing clothes?”  
  


This slap he definitely did not see coming.   
  


“Didn’t know you were so close,” he admitted, rubbing his cheek where’d she’d playfully hit him.   
  


“Yes I am.”  
  


He heard her huff, a light breeze reaching the knuckles of his hands. She took his silence as an invitation to continue, and for once, he wasn’t bothered.   
  


“Whatever I seem to be wearing turns invisible as soon as I put it on. I’ve experimented with it. Compared the surface area between my body and the clothing. Jackets are usually fine, but things like bracelets and even scarves can get iffy. I think there’s too much of a disconnect there, though you’d think a blanket would disappear if I wrapped myself in it.”  
  


Sherlock hummed in response, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
  


“Sorry,” she said, rubbing at the hair on the back of her neck. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”  
  


Sherlock shook his head. “I find I have many questions for you Molly, but I don’t really think this is the place, no?”  
  


She nodded, then quickly agreed audibly.   
  


“John and Mary are throwing some  _ dinner party, _ ” he began, not sure if inviting guests was allowed. “You can come. Eat.”  
  


“Answer your questions?” she offered.   
  


“Mm,” he replied, trying not to look too chuffed. “Will you be —”  
  


“Invisible by then? Probably not.”  
  


“And you’re —”  
  


“I’ll be fine.”  
  


“Good.” Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a terse conversation with an equal. “Do you need to get back to work?”  
  


Both of them paused at the question. It was a rare occurrence for him to show any acknowledgment of her job, especially a concern for it, outside of aiding him.  
  


“No, no. I called in sick today, because of, well… “  
  


He smiled weakly in return.   
  


“I just like to come in anyway —try not to throw my schedule out the window when an episode comes on.”  
  


“Makes sense,” he agreed, shuffling about uncomfortably. “Well —”  
  


“I can help you out if you want?” she offered. “I’m just doing busy work right now, nothing pressing.”  
  


Sherlock hesitated.   
  


“I promise I won’t get in your way,” she laughed half-heartedly.   
  


“Sure.”  
  


She smiled in return. Despite her apparent invisibility, the message was well received. Sherlock smiled back.   
  


The room was quiet for a moment as Molly put away her own things and Sherlock continued with his. He stayed in mainly one place, while she bustled around the room, opening cabinets and cleaning glassware. The serenity lasted exactly three minutes and twenty two seconds before Sherlock, distracted by his spores, swung around in his chair, knocking Molly to the ground.   
  


“I should really buy you a bell,” he joked, holding out his hand to her help her up.   
  


She managed on her own, instead getting to her feet and pulling Sherlock’s scarf out from around his neck.   
  


“Will this suffice?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.  
  


He looked on as the royal blue knit bobbed in mid-air atop her shoulders —resisted the urge to swipe his hand below and above it as if it were a magic trick, suspended from the ceiling by clear strings.   
  


“Yes,” he replied, distracted.”But this will take some getting used to.”

 

 

“When did you see Molly? I thought she was sick?” John asked that night when Sherlock informed the couple of their 5th attendee.  
  


“See?” Sherlock eyes got wide.   
  


“Yeah. You didn’t just call her up… Wait! What’d you do?”  
  


“Maybe he was being nice, right Sherls?” Mary walked past with serviettes for the table and touched her thumb to his cheek.   
  


“Maybe he wanted to distract us so he could sneak off early.”  
  


“He wouldn’t do that.” Mary narrowed her eyes at him.   
  


“No. Course not.”  
  


There was a knock at the door. Sherlock tensed up. Did the Watsons know about Molly’s condition?  
  


“You going to get that?” Mary asked from the kitchen.  
  


He’d spaced out.   
  


“I think you’re date’s here,” Mary teased.  
  


Sherlock yanked roughly at his shirt, pulling at the tight collar. “Funny,” he replied, standing to get the door.   
  


“Molly!” He blinked a few times in surprise, standing in the front hallway. “I wasn’t sure how I’d be expecting you.”  
  


“No walking through walls, remember,” she joked. She handed him a bottle of wine from her completely visible hands and pulled off her coat.   
  


Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He reached out and touched her face where a smile was quickly receding.   
  


“Um…”  
  


“Mate, you going to bring that in?”  
  


Sherlock jerked his hand back, opening and closing it like he’d gained new nerve endings since the last time he’d used it. His eyes darted between Molly and the bottle of red, before he finally backed out of the hall to the kitchen.   
  


The girls spared no time before delving into media gossip and baby stories. Sherlock sat stiffly on the sofa, holding his arms to chest, like they’d betrayed him.   
  


“You doing okay?” John popped in from the other room, a glass of Molly’s corner shop Merlot already gripped tight in his hand.   
  


He didn’t know what to say to his best friend.  _ So I just found out that Molly’s an Invisible,  _ just didn’t have a good ring to it.   
  


“Strange day at work,” he answered instead.   
  


“The client?”  
  


It took Sherlock a moment for his brain to buffer, before he recalled their earlier conversation.   
  


“Yes. The client. Surprised me today. Doesn’t happen much.” Again with the short sentences. He really was off.   
  


“That’s good news though, eh? You’re always complaining about how things are too boring.”   
  


He was right. He said that a lot.   
  


“Sometimes normal and mundane is easier to live with,” he muttered.   
  


John tried to reply, not catching a word he’d said, but Mary put a stop to it, popping her head into the lounge.   
  


“Supper time.”

  
  


The Watson’s had gone out and bought one of those cute artisan tables for their split kitchen/dining room, but the four chairs seated around it was a bit of a stretch. From her spot, Mary could feed Lizzie in the high chair, serve the plates of food on the counter behind her and pour the group more wine when necessary.   
  


By the time dessert was served, it was highly necessary.   
  


“Go into work today?” Mary had first asked when she noticed the messy ponytail in Molly’s hair.   
  


“Just for a bit,” she replied between mouthfuls of apple crumble.   
  


Sherlock hadn’t been paying much attention, poking at his own dessert, until the conversation suddenly piqued his interest.   
  


“Why don’t you just take up a hobby on your down days?” Mary asked, nudging Molly with her elbow.   
  


She seemed to consider it for a moment, before shrugging it away. “I don’t know.”  
  


“It’d be perfect, come on,” Mary pestered. “Give you something to do when you get sick.”  
  


“I can just watch the telly,” Molly supplied, looking to Sherlock for the first time since the main course.   
  


He caught her eye for a moment before looking away with a sympathetic smile.   
  


“But telly can be boring after a while. And there’s plenty of stuff you can do without leaving the house.”  
  


“I tried to do some home experiments…”  
  


“Please tell me they’re nothing like Sherlock’s,” John piped in, laughing for a second at his own misguided sense of humour. 

  
“But I’m limited at home.”  
  


“Just call one of us,” John suggested. “We’ll take you out, get what you need —”  
  


Molly’s face began to sour.   
  


“We’ll make sure no one slams a door in your face again!”  
  


“What?” Sherlock looked up from his food to John.   
  


He was about to reply when Mary pressed hard on top of his foot, effectively silencing him. Sherlock wouldn’t drop it though.   
  


“What do you mean, she got a door slammed in her face?”  
  


John looked taken back at his friend’s sudden protectiveness over the pathologist, but Mary knew exactly where his train of thought was going.   
  


“You told him?” she guessed.   
  


Molly nodded, Sherlock snorted, and John just looked on, lost as ever.   
  


“He sort of found out himself.”  
  


Mary steepled her fingers against her nose and breathed out slowly, finding her footing on shaky ground.  
  


“They knew?” Sherlock asked in a hushed tone, trying to process everything.  
  


“I needed someone to have my back in case —”  
  


“In case someone like me were to pry?” he interrupted, his voice becoming exceedingly bitter.   
  


Molly didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream.   
  


“We didn’t think you’d care,” Mary added in.   
  


“Why does everyone assume I don’t care!” He stood from the table, bashing one of the chairs into the wall behind him.   
  


It took a while for him to storm out, having to wait for John to stand to get past him. When he did, he had nowhere to run, so he paced the adjacent room, back and forth, leaving a trail of footprints in the carpet.   
  


John tried to go after him, but Mary stopped him, putting a hand on his forearm.   
  


“Let’s clean up, shall we?” she asked, taking Molly’s plate and fork from her spot. “Join me?” She looked towards the both of them with unwavering eyes until they set to work themselves.   


 

 

“So who knows?” Sherlock asked later in the lounge, when he’d decided to start talking again.  
  


“My sister, John and Mary, as you know now—” she cursed her choice of words, “a few doctors and someone in HR at Barts… And you.”  
  


“Yes, me.”  
  


“And it’s just a few doctors, just the ones I’ve seen about the condition.  
  


“Do they know anything?” Sherlock asked.   
  


Molly shook her head. She had Lizzie bouncing up and down on one knee, while Mary and John finished up in the kitchen. The toddler was teething, trying to steal Molly’s hand away to bite down on. It left her distracted.   
  


“Not even if it’s genetic —”  
  


“No!” Molly pulled her hand away from Lizzie.   
  


“No?” Sherlock was staring off into space, eyes fixed on the front window to John and Mary’s flat.  
  


“She’s trying to use my hand again,” she said, moving the toddler to her opposite knee.   
  


Molly loved babies and children and all things small, but the only living thing she took care of was Toby and he felt more like a closed off roommate than a pet.   
  


“Where’s her elephant?” Sherlock asked, absentmindedly.   
  


Molly pursed her lips. “Her elephant?”  
  
  
“She uses it to teeth sometimes,” he replied bluntly.  
  


His eyes searched the room until he spotted the silicone elephant wedged under a laundry basket.   
  


“I’ll be back.”  
  


He stood from the sofa and retrieved the toy, before heading to the bathroom near the front hall. Molly sighed loudly and watched the open archway to the kitchen. She could hear the new parents chatting amorously, most likely pleased to have a moment to themselves.  
  


With Lizzie in tow, Molly got up from the sofa as well and followed Sherlock out of the lounge. He couldn’t keep this cold act up forever. When she reached the bathroom door, it was closed, but not locked. Molly braced herself before opening it.   
  


Inside, Sherlock was leaning over the sink, the teething toy still under hot water. He heard her from behind him, but didn’t acknowledge her presence. Without saying anything to throw the conversation into a fight again, Molly took the toy out from Sherlock’s hand and gave it to Lizzie.   
  


“I had plenty of chances to tell you,” she spoke up, trying to catch his eye. “And I had plenty of excuses of why I shouldn’t. None of which were because I thought you wouldn’t care.  
  


This seemed to help, but he still wouldn’t meet her gaze.   
  


“You don’t understand what it’s like to feel and be completely invisible,” she spoke louder. “I didn’t need another person brushing me off.”  
  


Lizzie’s big green eyes stared up at Molly, while she held the teething elephant between her gums.   
  


“I didn’t want you to pity me too.”  
  


Now there were two sets of eyes on her and one of them was getting increasingly closer.  
  


“I don’t pity you,” he told her in a hoarse voice.   
  


“But you’ll worry. You and John and Mary, even my sister the odd time; you all worry.”  
  


Sherlock went to say something, when Molly continued, lost in the turmoil of her thoughts.   
  


“How’s Molly getting on? Is she lonely? Does being an Invisible put a damper on her love life? Does she worry she’ll find a man who’s okay with her disappearing for days? What if she has kids? How will that affect them?”  
  


Molly raised her shirt sleeve and pressed it against her eyes, trying not to cry. She felt Lizzie squirm against her chest, and held her tighter.   
  


Sherlock reached a hand out to comfort her, but stopped short, letting it sit on Lizzie’s small arm instead.   
  


“Has this gone on all your life?”  
  


Molly shook her head.   
  


“The first time anyone noticed was five years ago. A friend of mine at the time thought there was an intruder in the house because she heard me making noise in the kitchen, but didn’t see anyone. Scared the crap out of me when she told me. I thought it was some practical joke.”  
  


“Then you don’t know when you’re invisible.”  
  


“I keep a mirror on me.” She looked up at the powder room mirror above the sink and sighed, watching her reflection  
  


“I don’t know why it happens,” she hummed, thinking. “It was after my father passed, so doctors attributed it to depression, but I haven’t grown out of it since.”  
  


“I didn’t know you were —”  
  


“Depressed? Not anymore really. And yet, it stays.” She held her free arm out in front of her as if she’d turn right then and there.   
  


Sherlock thought she might too, like she had power over it, despite knowing she didn’t. He placed his hand on her arm and lowered it back to her waist, stepping into her as he did. He could hear the water still running from the sink, and the sound of Lizzie chewing on her elephant. They were all distractions and yet, they didn’t seem to have the same impact that Molly had on him at that very second.   
  


He leaned in close to her cheek, the one opposite of Lizzie’s curly blonde hair, and held Molly’s shoulders with both hands. Felt the skin below his fingers and the weight of her chin when he ran one across her collarbone, to her neck.   
  


“Please don’t pity me,” she said, watching his hooded eyes gaze down at her.   
  


“You have my actions confused, Molly Hooper. I am not pitying you. I am admiring.”  
  


He lifted his hand from her and placed a kiss on her forehead below her hairline.   
  


“I have a proposition,” he stated, stepping back and changing the mood of the crowded bathroom very quickly.   
  


“I’d like to monitor you. Observe the times when you turn invisible and when you come back. I’d like to look for any correlations between your condition and external stimuli.”  
  


“Like an experiment?”   
  


Lizzie dropped her toy to the ground and began to whine.   
  


“Yes.”  
  


“You realize I don’t know when these episodes come on. Sometimes not for weeks at a time.”  
  


“I understand the commitment entailed.”  
  


“And how do you plan on doing this?”  
  


“I haven’t considered all of my options, but I must say, a video feed may be too intrusive.”  
  


“You don’t say,” Molly replied, shifting Lizzie’s weight on her hip.  
  


Sherlock bent down to pick up the toy and placed it on the sill of the sink.   
  


“I was thinking you stay at 221b. Take John’s flat for a few weeks. London has been quiet lately. If I’m not called away for anything urgent, I can follow you —assist with things, while observing you and your surroundings of course.”  
  


“No.”   
  


Lizzie’s stubbornness was not wavering and she was forcing tears now.   
  


“I want to remain at my own flat.”  
  


“But it’s so far away!”  
  


“I will continue to live at my own place. You are welcome like before, but if you so happen to impede my life once, I am calling your brother and finding you something else to entertain you.”  
  


Sherlock pondered the arrangement.   
  


“Can you just contact John if I —”  
  


Molly shook her head adamantly.   
  


“It has to be Mycroft?”  
  


Molly smiled slyly.   
  


“Fine. Tomorrow, seven o’clock?”  
  


“Noon. I need time to prepare. Sherlock-proof the place if you will.”  
  


Sherlock was ready to fire a jab back at her when they heard Mary approaching.   
  


“What are you doing with my baby,” she hollered, stomping towards them.   
  


When she reached the open door, her mouth opened and the words, “oh, I’m interrupting,” fell out.   
  


She reached over and took Lizzie from Molly’s arm, before closing the door behind them.   
  


“I’ll leave you two be,” she said from the hall.   
  


Sherlock rolled his eyes.   
  


“We’re not doing anything, Mary.”  
  


“Please,” she quipped comically. “You’re not doing anything yet.”  
  


Molly blushed, looking back towards the elephant in the sink.  
  


“This joke of yours is wearing thin,” Sherlock protested.  
  


“I think she’s gone,” Molly said, before removing the toy and herself from the bathroom. 


End file.
